Cold
by thebondgirl
Summary: A small four chapter post 'grave danger' fic i wrote when i was bored.. nothing graphic, but lots of harmless nick angst and Nickwhole csi team friendships kplus for language and reference to possible suicide. Don't worry, there's a happy ending!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** heyhey:) yeah, here's a story that i started while on writer's block for my other work in progress, 'nowhere to run' (check it out if you want - chapter 1 is up) -- normally this kind of fic (suicide related) isn't my thing, isn't my style, but i got a few requests for a post 'grave danger' episode fic, and i had nothing better to do, so here it is:) -- don't worry, nothing is at all graphic. there's around four chapters so r&r - be gentle if you don't like it

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**Chapter 1**

Cold. That was all that he felt right then, even though it was probably closer to eighty degrees outside at the moment; afternoons in Las Vegas were never cold – and yet there he was, shivering as though the temperature were in the negatives. He shook his head with half-hearted anger. What was wrong with him? He'd been discharged from the hospital the morning before and he hadn't slept or eaten since, hadn't even gone home. Hell, he hadn't even let his friends know that he had been released when he knew they would've wanted to pick him up, to be with him. But that was the thing, that last night, when the doses of drugs finally let up and he really had time to think back to when he'd been found and to think about how he had broken down, he didn't think he'd have been able to even look his friends in the eye if they would've come to see him between then and the morning when he was allowed to leave, never mind endure the ride home.

He'd failed them. He had given up. At first the mere thought of the handgun beside him in that Plexiglas coffin made him want to be sick. However, twelve hours underground, fire ants, and then suddenly not being able to breathe had certainly changed that – he had actually picked up that gun and placed the barrel under his chin, ready to pull the trigger, to make it all stop when Warrick's face suddenly appeared through the dirt above him and his voice shouted to him, though muffled, to _not_ pull the trigger, to put the gun down. At that exact moment he'd been deliriously happy, unable to contain weakened cries of joy as he, out of sheer force of habit, replaced his gun in its holster on his hip – it was only later on in the hospital that his mind let the Stokes shame set in at having given in like that, at having actually almost taken the coward's way out.

What was he _doing_ up there?

When he'd left the hospital on foot, politely declining the offered cab, he'd walked aimlessly around town for hours until finally finding his way to the lab, his home away from home, the place he'd always loved to be at the most. Luck had been on his side that the receptionist was on break, and the lab itself almost entirely empty when he walked in, considering the fact that it was only one in the afternoon on a Sunday, meaning that virtually no one would be wandering around here, most especially no one he knew or that knew him. He was hardly even aware that he was climbing the stairs to the roof until he opened the door in front of him and he was hit full on with a blast of warm wind, causing him to shiver despite the heat it washed over him.

In that first minute on the roof of the lab, he had walked over to the edge and gazed blankly at the ground bellow, leaning heavily against the concrete that kept him from falling into empty space; he had had little real energy since the incident that made him like this, any that he had had left after being rescued having been wiped out with a week of tests, sedatives to keep him calm, and then talks with the resident shrink on how he felt about what had happened to him. No one from the team had said anything on the subject, but he knew that he looked terrible, the absence of real food causing his usually lean body to thin out under the hospital gown, the absence of real sleep forming unfortunately dark rings under his eyes. He hadn't had the courage to look in the mirror of his hospital room's bathroom before he left, and he had a feeling that it was for the better; the last thing he needed was to feel was had happened to him and _see_ it as well.

In that first minute, he found his thoughts wandering to what it would have been like had Warrick not gotten to him when he did, if he had taken just one more second to sweep away the dirt and Nick's finger had pulled the trigger back…

He had of course dismissed the thought angrily, berating himself for such ideas and cursing the fact that he had thought it, cursing the gun that was once again in its holster at his hip, cursing the fact that he had been given the opportunity to use it, then finally cursing Walter Gordon himself, for having put him in that damn box in the first place.

Presently, Nick was sitting with his back against the ledge, his knees bent so that they were around a foot in front of his face, his arms gripping himself tightly to ward off the non-existent cold, that gun in its holster, sitting on the roof floor beside him along with his badge. He stared vacantly at the ledge at the other end of the rooftop, wondering vaguely if they had left the clip in his gun when it had been left at the hospital, but thinking mostly of his team, his coworkers and closest friends, and how he had let them down, and how he was letting them down again.

* * *

Grissom's fingers on his left hand cheerfully drummed out the beat to the song playing over the elevator's speakers on the rail attached to the wall behind him, watching the doors close and tensing his knees briefly for the jerking motion that started him up to the fifth floor of the Desert Palms Hospital. In his right hand he held a sandwich from the deli in its brown paper bag, the food being his reason for coming to see Nick so soon before he was due at the lab for his shift that night; the CSI had been looking progressively thinner throughout the week and it had Grissom worrying, and also put the idea in his head that his friend simply needed some good, real food in his stomach so as to start to feel up to par again. And, not really knowing what kind of food the Texan usually ate, he figured that he'd be safe in just ordering what he always saw Sara eating, figuring that Nick's taste couldn't be too far off from there. 

However, the second the doors opened again, giving him a full view of first the empty waiting room then the nurse's station as he stepped off as well as the opportunity to overhear the conversation taking place, his cheerfulness immediately evaporated and he ran towards the now heated argument between the only nurse currently present and the man and woman who stood in front of her, the man also holding a paper bag from the deli in one hand while the other gestured angrily in front of him.

"What do you mean he's gone! How could he be gone!" Warrick all but yelled into the young nurse's face whose expression in turn went from somewhat understanding to defensive.

"Well, we're not exactly running a prison here Mr. Brown – patients do eventually get to go home, and not just for good behaviour," she yelled back, her hands gripping her clipboard even tighter as she stared him down. Now it was Sara's turn to jump in.

"Okay, one, he didn't say anything to us about being discharged today, and two, how could you just let him walk out of here alone?" she demanded, her voice displaying her growing anger and anxiousness over the situation. The nurse suddenly looked very sheepish and lowered her gaze to her clipboard as if looking for an answer that she didn't have.

"I – I guess I just assumed that he told you five, seeing as we told him yesterday just before you all came to see him," she said carefully. "That and, when I offered to call him a cab, he said that it was all right, that he already had a ride." At this point, Grissom felt it was safe to speak up.

"Maybe Greg or Cath drove him home." Both Warrick and Sara whipped around to face him, obviously startled at his sudden appearance behind them. Warrick's look of sheepishness almost dominated the nurse's, though in his, more worry was present.

"Yeah, maybe. 'Guess I didn't really think of that – I just need to know for sure that he's okay, you know? I mean, he probably shouldn't even be alone yet," he mumbled, and Sara nodded.

"I agree. I'll give Greg a call, see if he dropped him off this morning after he got off." Grissom was already headed for the payphones.

"And I'll call Cath." However, just as they both began to dial, the elevator doors opened up again and both Greg _and_ Catherine stepped off, Catherine holding a brown deli bag in one hand. Upon seeing the others start towards them and seeing their expressions bordering on panicked, Catherine's heart plummeted, but Greg beat her to the question.

"What's wrong? What happened? Is Nick okay?" Grissom quickly stepped forward, knowing now that their question was answered: neither Greg nor Catherine even knew that he was out of the hospital.

"Nothing's wrong – Nick's okay…at least as far as we know." Catherine's frown deepened.

"What do you mean 'as far as we know'," she said, looking at him steadily. Then it dawned on her. "Where is he?" Grissom sighed, and Warrick took over.

"Apparently he was discharged this morning, at around nine." He didn't bother to hide his frustration. Why hadn't Nick called him? Why hadn't he called _any_ of them to come pick him up? Why was it that he had left, on his own, nearly nine hours ago, and no one had heard from him?

It was clear that from the looks on the other's faces, the exact same questions were running through their minds as well, but no one wanted to voice the possible answer that always came up: he didn't call any of them because this thing with Walter Gordon had affected him deeper than they had all thought, and maybe what he was planning on doing, he wouldn't have done it around them…

Warrick cleared his throat uncertainly.

"You don't, uh, think he would do something…stupid, do you?" Catherine's sharp eyes immediately set upon him, and he resisted the urge to take a step back.

"This is Nick we're talking about here," she said firmly. "He may be hurting, but he would never do…_that_." Even as she spoke the words, the entire team, her included, thought back to that night, thought back to what they had heard Warrick say to Nick when he had finally uncovered the lid of the coffin, and what they had seen for themselves.

_Warrick's hands were working furiously to sweep away the last few handfuls of dirt while the rest of the team stood by, watching him with barely contained panic until the glass was finally revealed. However, any relief that they felt was more than a little dampened when they saw Warrick's eyes widen as he started to yell down to Nick._

"_Hey! Nick, put it down! Put that thing away! We're here! Don't you pull that trigger!" Immediately they had rushed forward with crowbars to pry the lid up, and had seen with their own eyes Nick's disbelieving ones…as well as the handgun that now rested on his chest, his finger still hovering over the trigger while his free hand scraped anew against the glass that imprisoned him._

They were torn from the unpleasant memory by Grissom's normally calm, now slightly anxious voice.

"Okay, before we start making assumptions, I'm going to try his home phone, then his cell," he said, and quickly returned to the line of payphones, immediately slipping in a quarter and beginning to dial. Catherine, being second in charge in any normal scenario, returned her attention back to the nurse who stood waiting nervously in front of them.

"Alright, could you tell me any specifics about when he left? Did he say where he was going to go after leaving here?" For the nurse's sake she kept her voice calm, but in reality, she was anything but. Anyone who had been through what Nick had shouldn't have been left alone, and he'd been alone, away from the safety of the hospital for the greater part of the day. The nurse looked back down at her clipboard, this time reading the information on it.

"Um, well I can tell you that he left here at exactly nine-fifteen a.m., and that all of his personal items were returned to him once he was discharged," she said slowly before looking back up at her, seeming genuinely apologetic. "But I'm sorry, he gave no indication at all of where was headed." Greg's eyes suddenly widened.

"Um, did – did you say _all_ of his personal items?" His subtly panicked voice made the other three stare from him to the nurse, who quickly looked back down at her page.

"Yes…a cell phone, clothing, a Las Vegas CSI badge, and – " Now it was her turn for her eyes to widen.

"What? What is it?" Sara asked, though she had the feeling she knew what it was, at the same time hoping beyond hope that she was wrong. The nurse's expression and tone did nothing to soothe her nerves, especially when paired with what she reported to them.

"Um, along with everything else, his – his service handgun and holster were returned to him." The listening CSIs did their best to dismiss the scenario running through their heads, to convince themselves that it would never happen. The nurse, seeing the impact of her words, tried her best to reassure. "Maybe – Maybe he just went home?" At that moment Grissom rejoined the group, the frown that creased his face speaking for him even before he opened his mouth.

"No answer at home and his cell was turned off," he said to no one in particular. Catherine piped up quietly.

"We have no idea where he might've been going when he left. And Gil?" He looked up at her. "His gun was returned to him at the time of his discharge." Sighing, the senior CSI massaged the bridge of his nose before looking up at her, his expression bordering on pessimistic.

"We'll give him the time it takes us to get from here to the lab before we try him again, and if we still can't get a hold of him, we'll call in Brass and a small search party," he said, looking around at each of them. "For all we know, he simply went for a walk to clear his head." At this Warrick scoffed, though not rudely, just out of worry.

"I think we all remember how much weight he's lost and how little sleep he's gotten on his own," he bitterly, looking up at his boss. "I seriously doubt the guy would be able to keep on walking for nine hours on what little energy he's got." Sara placed her hand carefully on his arm to draw his attention.

"We'll call him again when we get to the lab Warrick. Don't worry – I'm sure he's fine." She only wished she felt as confidant as her words were.

* * *

Upon arriving at the lab, the five criminalists all but jumped out of their separate cars, Grissom pulling his cell phone out to try him again at home and Warrick again trying his cell, as prearranged when they all left the hospital. The other three gathered around them, hoping desperately for one of them to start talking to Nick who would be on the other line, doing just fine. However, their hopes were crushed as both men hung up without having spoken a word. Grissom looked slowly at each of them and saw there the intensifying worry that he knew showed on his face as well; the sooner they found Nick, the better. 

Opening his cell phone again, he hit a number for speed dial and was relieved when the voice he'd known for years answered at the other end after only two rings.

"Brass here."

"Jim?" Brass immediately recognized Grissom's voice, also catching the display of one of the rarest emotions in his friend, rare that is, until last week: worry.

"Gil? What's wrong?" he asked immediately. The last time this man had sounded this way was when one of his guys, and one of Jim's closest friends as well, had been kidnapped and buried alive. Needless to say, he was almost afraid of what it could be this time. He heard Grissom sigh, the sound of it doing nothing to calm his nerves. "Gil, common, what's going on?" he demanded softly. There was another pause before Grissom finally spoke.

"Nick was discharged this morning Jim; he didn't tell any of us, and he left the hospital at nine-fifteen – and we still haven't heard from him." A cold feeling worked its way up his spine before finally reaching the back of his neck, causing him to shiver involuntarily as he forced himself to speak.

"Have you tried calling him?" He knew it was a lame question; Grissom didn't just work himself into this state without having first tried such obvious options.

"Yes – no answer at home and he hasn't turned his cell on after getting it back when he was discharged." Grissom almost didn't want to continue, but Brass had the right to know, just in case. In case…

He blocked out the last of the thought. He couldn't however block out all of the cases he had worked where the vic's COD had been a point-blank 9mm shot to the side of the head. His imagination seemed to enjoy replacing their faces with Nick's, making him shudder, peeking the curiosity of the others in the process.

"There's something else…" He swallowed thickly. "The – The hospital gave him back his gun Jim." This made Brass stop his walk to his office to gape at nothing. Was Grissom implying that Nick would…

"Gil wha – what are you saying? That Nick, our Nick, would – " Grissom was quick to interrupt him.

"No!" His tone was harsher than he had meant it to be and he took a deep, calming breath. He couldn't let himself get too worked up when they needed to focus their energy on finding their friend as soon as possible. "No, I just really think it would be better if he wasn't alone right now – if we could just talk to him…"

Brass couldn't help but smile at Grissom's usually hidden humility, but at the same time wished more than ever that it would one day have a better excuse to come out into the open rather than just in situations such as this. In the end, Grissom was right: they needed to find Nick, find him and make sure that he was alright, and if he wasn't, stay with him until he was – he would've done the same for them.

"Okay Gil, here's what I'll do: I can get five of my guys to start looking for him with me downtown. It'll be discreet, so the press won't get any wind of it, and if we find him, we won't approach him, just in case, and you'll be the first to know where he is."

"Thanks a lot Jim," Grissom said, relieved at Brass' discretion – the last thing they wanted was for Nick to be hounded even more by the press than he already was. "While you're looking, we're going to get a look at the feeds from the traffic cameras, see if maybe we can see where he went or where he was headed, give us a better idea of where to look."

"Okay, call me when you know anything – which ever of us is closer will go get him." And with that he hung up, no doubt to head off towards dispatch to call five units back to the station for briefing on the situation. Hanging up himself, he turned back to the others who were staring at him, eager to be able to do something. "Okay, everyone to the A/V lab – we've got traffic camera feeds to go through, ASAP."

_TBC_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

How long had he been there? He had no idea of the exact time as he didn't have a watch anymore – as far as he knew, it had been broken during his rescue when the explosives under the box had gone off and he had hit the ground, and so they had simply thrown it out when they had gotten to the ER. All that he knew was that the sun was setting, though he couldn't bring his mind to make an educated guess as to the time the sun usually set. Having not gone anywhere or done anything for however long, his mind had slipped in and out of awareness dozens of times.

He wasn't sure when the tears had started to roll down his cheeks, only knew that his eyes were constantly burning with them, his vision swimming occasionally as they waited to fall. If possible, he shivered even more, his frame occasionally wracking with sobs as well as he saw in his mind's eye those terrible glass walls, around him, all around him, boxing him in, surrounding him entirely and yet giving him full view of the dirt outside it, the dirt that was just waiting to pour in and suffocate him, to pour in and bring with it the insects that would eat him alive, their bites stinging one after the other until his mind finally managed to block it all out. Then suddenly the fan shut off…

Again he came back to reality as the flashback had physically caused him to start choking and gagging, hands clutching his throat as this imaginary loss of air hit him. It was a long moment before the feeling passed, and he slumped forward once more, even more drained than before as the effects of two days without food or sleep started to sweep over him, increasing the shivers and forcing him to wrap his arms tightly around himself once more. This done, he let his gaze shift down to the gun at his side and he saw that the clip was indeed secured in the butt of the weapon, no doubt still full of bullets. His subconscious practically dared him to try to pick it up just so that he could put it down again and prove to himself that he was above that kind of relief, but at this point, he was so tired that he didn't feel like moving anything at all, never mind going through the effort of picking up the no doubt heavy hunk of metal in his hand.

As the tears continued to fall and the sun continued to set, he glanced around himself at the empty rooftop of his place of work and found himself with a slight smile on his face, one of minor relief and satisfaction: if they even noticed he was missing, they probably wouldn't even think to look up there, and so at least he could be alone where they couldn't see him like this again.

He sighed deeply and continued to shiver, his thoughts inadvertently wandering back to the box and the dim green glow around him.

* * *

After waiting five hours to get clearance to look over the traffic feeds, the team had collectively spent the next the next ten going through the appropriate timeframe for each, it being noon the next day by the time they'd finished the first half. Had they known which streets to look at, it would've been a lot easier, but for the moment they did the best they could with what they had. 

It had only been ten the previous night when Grissom had sent Warrick and Catherine to see if Nick had made it home but simply wasn't answering his phone. They had been hopeful en route, wishing feverently that when they knocked on that door, their friend would open it and ask what the emergency was, but still be fine. However, their hopes were once again crushed. There was no answer when they knocked and when they let themselves in quietly, using the spare key, they found the entire house to be dark and empty and exactly the way it'd been since Nick had been kidnapped the week before, not a thing out of place – he hadn't come home yet at all.

Presently, when it was six the next night and Grissom, Sara, Greg, and Archie had gotten started on the next chunk of traffic feeds, Warrick and Catherine each hung up their phones simultaneously, having just spent the past hour phoning every motel and hotel in Vegas, asking each one if a Nick Stokes had rented a room and getting a polite 'no' in return from all of them. They had just been about to try phoning Nick himself again when they heard Greg cry out from his workstation.

"I've got it! I've got him!" he said excitedly, and everyone rushed over to stand around him, staring at his screen. Sure enough, once zoomed in, the traffic feed gave full view of their co-worker, the image leaving them quite a bit more nervous than they had been before. Nick looked gaunt, pale, and bone-tired. His clothes hung from his body like they would a coat hanger and his walk was more of a tired shuffle as he traveled down the sidewalk, right next to the street. However, what got them most was the look on his face. Even looking at it through a video recording, they could clearly see the shell-shocked expression he bore, as though he simply didn't know what to do with himself. For the next hour they followed his movements, sometimes fast-forwarding, through the streets of Vegas, until they came to the end of the tapes, and found something that they, much to their self loathing, hadn't even thought of until now: Nick had turned off into the lab parking lot at approximately one the previous afternoon.

This left all of them scrambling to get to the security videos of their lab, Archie being the first to access them, pulling up the one for the main lobby first. Standing around his chair to watch, the team saw that when Nick had walked through the front doors, the receptionist wasn't at her desk and the lobby was empty, allowing Nick to continue on, unquestioned, through the halls. Camera by camera, they watched him slowly make his way through the building, not encountering anyone, until he found his way to the one place they had all been dreading: the stairs that led to the roof.

Immediately they all raced out of the room and took off running down the hall, Grissom pulling out his phone and hitting the speed dial as they went. He didn't even let Brass speak when the line picked up.

"Brass! We found him – he's on the roof of the lab. We don't know what condition he's in, so have paramedics on the stand by and get over here." And with that he hung up and turned off his phone, continuing on with the others until they finally came to the door that Nick had gone through. Whipping it open, Warrick led the way up until they made it to the door that led outside and Grissom stopped him from opening the door right away by calling his name.

"Warrick – " His hand stopped turning the knob and he looked back at his boss. "This goes for all of you," Grissom started, looking around at each of them. "Exercise caution when we find him, for obvious reasons. Split up, search the roof – whoever finds him first, stay with him; we'll all find you eventually." And with that, he nodded for Warrick to ease the door open. The warm blast of air hit the group head on as they stepped out onto the darkening rooftop. Without a word, they each walked in separate directions, Warrick taking the far left, Greg the far right, and the other three the middle, each walking slowly, carefully, looking behind each crate and around each corner.

Warrick was halfway across the roof's full expanse when he found him. For a second, the sight left him unable to move any closer, unable to say anything, practically unable to even breathe. Nick was sitting on the ground, propped up against the concrete ledge with his legs bent up in front of his face, his bare arms wrapped tightly, protectively around his torso. What really got him though was the shivering that had completely enveloped his body, despite the oven-like temperature outside, and the fact that even in the dim light, Warrick could see the tears pouring down his friend's face while his eyes remained squeezed shut. The quiet whimper that sounded shook Warrick from most of his shock and, keeping his distance, he decided to speak.

"Nick…" After he had uttered that one word, his friend suddenly opened his eyes and, moving faster than he had seen him, or any cop, move, he whipped his gun out of the holster that Warrick hadn't even noticed and used his free hand to hold himself up while he swung his other one around to aim at Warrick, his eyes wide with terror.

"Whoa! Nick! It's okay! Easy, it's me…Warrick…" he said desperately, and was immensely relieved when Nick blinked hard, looking at him again before lowering the gun and slumping back against the ledge, breathing deeply and raking a trembling hand over his face as he spoke quietly.

"Jesus, Warrick, man, you can't sneak up on a guy like that," he breathed, unable to keep the slightly subsiding fear from his voice. When he had faintly heard a voice enter his thoughts and had suddenly felt the presence of another across from him, his subconscious had feared the worst and he had reacted out of panic and instinct combined – now he was merely relieved that he hadn't shot his best friend.

Warrick cursed himself for being so stupid – walking up to him like that in the dark without any warning, after what he'd just been through was bordering on heartless compared to what his friend deserved from him. However, he didn't miss it when Nick's fear and minor relief morphed into fear and apprehension when he placed the gun on the ground and lowered his hand, not bothering to try to swipe at the tears that still fell as he looked up at him.

"So, what brings you up here Rick?" he asked with a sorry attempt at casualness, once more wrapping his arms tightly around himself as the shivers started up again. Hesitating for a moment, Warrick took a step towards Nick, startled when Nick inched himself further down the ledge, away from him.

"You, man," he whispered. He didn't expect to see his friend flinch and turn away. He didn't think he'd ever seen this many tears come out of anybody.

"Why?" His voice was hardly more than a whisper but it carried to Warrick's ears, causing him to stare at him in disbelief. Nick refused to meet his gaze, instead gazing vacantly past his legs. Kneeling down in front of him in his line of sight, but deciding not to try to go any closer, Warrick swallowed his guilt and tried to keep his voice steady.

"Because you're my friend – I can't just let you self-destruct," he answered softly. For a brief second, Nick's eyes met his and he felt the breath leave his body at the utter despair he found in those brown depths before Nick could look away again. He felt the guilt resurface with a vengeance - it shouldn't have been Nick who was abducted at that crime scene; it shouldn't have been Nick that was burried alive in that box; it shouldn't have been his cheerful, optimistic friend that spent twelve hours wondering if he was going to live or die, wondering if his friends would find him before he ran out of air or if he was going to slowly suffocate, alone, afraid... Warrick gazed saddly at the man, knowing that it should be he himself that was like this, hating the fact that for some reason, fate had decided to step in and deliver another staggering blow to a man who'd already endured too much, choosing instead to spare his best friend, the apparently 'lucky' Warrick Brown.

_'Look what I've done to you Nick,' _he thought despairingly to himself. '_I've killed you…'_

Nick's response was laced in exhaustion and came out choked.

"Just leave me alone." Nick couldn't stand to see Warrick look at him like that, looking at him with an expression that said that he remembered that night clearly, and that he was afraid that if left alone, he would crumble. Not that he didn't feel like doing just that, but the last thing he wanted was for his friends to see him like this, a frail shell that had apparently had enough but couldn't bring himself to do anything about it.

Hearing footsteps approaching, both men looked up quickly, Nick flinching again and quickly looking away as they both realized who it was. Grissom led the way forward, the group only noticing Nick once they reached Warrick's side. At first, like Warrick had before, they could only stand and stare in shock at their friend who was shaking like a leaf, tears staining his cheeks, and who hadn't spoken a word as of yet. The toll of the last week and a half was obvious in his thin, slouched frame and the dark rings under his once sparkling eyes.

Trying to maintain a more casual air, Greg, Sara, and Catherine leaned up against the ledge a little ways away from Nick, Grissom joining Warrick in kneeling before speaking, choosing his words carefully.

"We've been looking for you – we were worried when you didn't call us, or answer either of your phones when you were discharged from the hospital." At this, Nick removed one arm from its place wrapped around his middle, reaching one shaking hand down to his belt and unclipping his cell phone before opening it and looking at it closely, giving a small ghost of a chuckle as he did.

"I guess I just forgot to turn it on when I left – forgot that they would've turned it off in the first place when it was at the hospital," he said quaintly, returning the phone to its holder with difficulty before returning the arm to its place and his gaze to his knees in front of him. "And I haven't really gotten around to being home yet – needed to clear my head a little."

For some reason, the fact that he at least admitted to not having gone home was a little comforting, in the sense that he wasn't trying to cover up the fact that everything wasn't all right. Again, it was only a _little_ comforting, for just by looking at him, they could guess on their own that he hadn't slept at all yet and more than likely hadn't eaten anything, a dangerous game to play with a body still recovering from serious anaphylactic shock and dehydration.

It was then that each of their eyes landed on the handgun lying beside its holster at Nick's side, the safety on the weapon already off. Swallowing hard to wet his suddenly dry throat, Grissom tried to ask the question as casually as possible, though even to his own ears it sounded to be anything but.

"So is that why you came up here? To clear your head?" At this point, Nick finally looked up, but none present knew how to feel about the look on his face that all but screamed that he had expected this, expected it, and dreaded it. The worst of it was, there was a dulled sense of betrayal etched into his eyes that gave Grissom the feeling that he'd just made a terrible mistake.

However, rather than lash out, Nick's response to the obvious question was quiet, though trembling.

"You think I'm suicidal Griss?" He had known that this would be their reaction to him; he had known that they would be disappointed in him, would think that because of that night, he would choose the easy way out, but he had just hopped to have more time to come up with some sort of defence before he was forced to face that disappointment.

It was more of a statement than a question and Nick's forwardness left him as well as the other four without a voice as Nick shook his head sadly, at the same time carefully reaching over and picking up the gun once more, holding it with both hands as he looked from it to his boss.

Seeing the weapon suddenly in their friend's hands made them all tense up, ready to throw themselves at him to prevent what they all feared would happen from happening. However, contrary to what they were waiting for, the barrel never found its way to the side of his head or his chest, but remained instead resting in the palm of one of his hands, his eyes never leaving it.

"If I was, I would've held this barrel under my chin and pulled the trigger while I was still six feet underground in that glass coffin after the first six hours. I wouldn't have waited until you guys found me, until you could see how far I'd fallen for yourselves before I went." His eyes slowly shut against the fresh flow of tears that fell silently, without a single sob from the one shedding them.

The rooftop fell into an uneasy silence, none of the CSIs knowing whether to first be relieved with this confession, or to skip right to becoming even more concerned. If they didn't know any better, they'd have sworn that Nick had sounded ashamed as he spoke – just how far _had_ he fallen? Would they be able to pull him back? One thing was for sure: they _had_ to try.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Just looking at him, each of them couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have been in Nick's position for those twelve hours – a seemingly short period of time, yet to the victim of such a crime, in this case Nick, it would've felt like an eternity of waiting, unable to move your arms or your legs, unable to turn over or even sleep to pass the time, and not sure if the next breath would be the last of your air, if the breath after that you went to fill your lungs with oxygen only to find that there was none to be had, and you instead felt as though your lungs were collapsing in on themselves, starved for the one thing that the dirt walls that surrounded you couldn't, wouldn't provide…

A collective shudder passed through the group surrounding Nick as each of their thoughts returned to that night; it had been happening – the oxygen in the box had run out and it was that collapsing, suffocating, helpless feeling that they all knew Nick had experienced, on top of the non-stop, excruciating attack from the fire ants he had unintentionally let in. The more that each of them thought about it, about what Nick had endured and surpassed to get to this moment, the more sure they became that had it been them themselves in that Plexiglas death trap, alone with their thoughts, the ants, and a handgun, they probably would've picked the gun, most likely around the time the ants came into the picture; they wouldn't have been able to hold out as long as Nick had – they would've pulled that blessed trigger…

Blinking hard to cut off the flow of images and thoughts that assaulted the logical half of her mind, Catherine focused back on Nick and noticed that _that_ gun still rested in his hands, and she swallowed hard, torn between decisions. He _had_ said, though indirectly, that he had no intention of killing himself now, not after surviving it all, but then again, at the same time, it seemed to her that he had also said indirectly that he'd reached the mindset for suicide – it seemed as though he just didn't want to do it when it meant leaving a 'weak' image of him with them, his friends.

The mere idea of Nick thinking this way brought tears to her eyes, but she blinked them back forcefully, biting down on her lip as she waited for the unbearable sadness to pass; Nick needed her, all of them, to be strong right now, to help get rid of _those_ thoughts that she was sure were running through his head as he sat on this rooftop, shivering and crying bitter tears. She edged a little closer along the concrete ledge that supported Nick's sagging frame.

"Why don't you give me the gun Nicky," she whispered. She didn't expect him to slowly look over at her, his eyes opening and his brow furrowing in a half-hearted attempt to quell his overwhelming emotions.

For a second he stared at her – she, _all_ of them still thought he was on the verge of eating a bullet. He would have laughed in frustration, but for the moment, he doubted he remembered how. He would've liked to have stood up and thrown the gun down at her feet to emphasize that he had never planned on going out like that, but he felt his hunger and sleep deprivation of the past two days weighing down on him more than ever, and knew that his legs wouldn't support him for long. And he knew that lazily tossing it over from a sitting position like he was in would be simply interpreted as the suicidal man deciding to give it one more shot. No, he wasn't so tired as to settle for a misunderstanding like that – so he went for the next best thing, which might've even been better than the original plan.

"You still don't get it, do you?" he rasped, voice cracking as his head fell gingerly back against the concrete behind it, his sad, tired eyes never leaving hers. She blinked in confusion and he shifted the gun so that only one hand held it. Automatically everyone tensed and moved a centimetre or two closer. Not failing to notice this gesture, Nick's eyes swept over them as he carefully shook his head, a wispy laugh escaping his lips before he lowered his gaze to the gun in his hand, fingers moving to and pressing the release switches that dropped the gun's clip into his other hand.

At this point, he let his eyes rest on and briefly linger on the face of each of his friends as he continued, the thumb on the hand that held the clip pushing each bullet out of it each second or so that he spoke so that they each hit the ground beside him and rolled off to the side as he went, trying not to see the terrified looks in all their eyes.

"Growing up, and when I was in college, I was taught and believed that suicide is the coward's way of dealin' with things – and I still believe it, and I ain't no coward. What I am is tired, tired of being a victim, tired of being a disappointment to the people I care about, a dead-weight – "

The last bullet hit the tarred surface and rolled slowly away, coming to a stop when it hit Greg's shoe while inside, the turmoil that was Greg's thoughts was still rolling destructively downhill, only getting bigger as it went, Nick's words bouncing viciously around the walls of his head. What was he talking about, 'being a disappointment'? That was the _very_ _last_ thing he was. And what did he mean by 'a dead-weight'? He just couldn't comprehend what he was hearing, and as he looked around at the others, he saw the exact same thoughts running through them.

In the silence that followed, Nick slowly replaced the clip in the gun and replaced the gun in its holster before letting out a deep sigh that drained the last of his energy with it as he rewrapped his arms around his middle, squeezed his eyes shut, and leaned forward so that his forehead rested on his knees, preparing himself for what he needed, not so much wanted, to say.

For a moment, he remained silent, listening to the faint sounds of breathing around him before his mind's eye once more returned him to a glass interior, the walls reflecting the green glow back into his eyes. His entire body joined in the shudder, adding on yet another scoop of helplessness to the pile that had been steadily growing on each of the CSIs' shoulders since they had first found Nick sitting here, alone with his thoughts, and a gun.

The next eleven words joined to become the straw that broke the camel's back, the scoop that sent the teetering pile crashing down, Nick's tone displaying once and for all the exhaustion, both physical and emotional, and the fact that he had reached and surpassed his breaking point.

"Everyone would've been better off if you'd just never found me."

That phrase in itself put everyone listening into a state of shock, four of the surrounding five coming out of it a little when the carefully constructed dam that Sara always had in the way of her emotions was destroyed and tears began to fall freely from her eyes and she slid gradually down the ledge into a sitting position on the ground as she began to sob quietly, her face in her hands.

What was more…Nick was the first to get to her.

He knew that she was crying because of him, and knew that he _had_ to go to her, tired or not. And so, with an unimaginable amount of difficulty, he was able to push himself on shaking arms into the crawling position and slowly, haltingly closed the four feet of space between them, his head spinning, his vision swimming, as his body swayed dangerously before he finally let himself once more fall down next to her rather than sit, and he gently wrapped his arms, feeling to him like lead weights, around her shaking shoulders, pulling her to his chest in comfort.

For all their genius in the field of criminal science, not one of them could find a way to describe the emotions they felt as they watched his clearly difficult crawl to Sara's side on limbs that didn't seem to want to have anything to do with keeping him from falling. They were just starting to become worried again about the physical toll of two days of self-neglect when Nick spoke again, crying anew, his eyes squeezed shut as he continued to hug Sara to himself, rocking her slowly back and forth. He merely repeated the same words over and over, but they were enough to drive a stake through their hearts.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Sara, so sorry," he sobbed, hugging her tighter.

"_You're_ sorry?" she asked, her choked voice clearly confused. "What do _you_ have to be sorry about?"

"Look what I've done to you…look what I've done to all of you…" For a second his pained voice trailed off, then he rested the side of his face on the top of her head, his tears wetting her hair. "You deserve better…I'm so sorry…" Grissom and Catherine exchanged a glance while all four of the watching CSIs sat wondering what they could possibly say at this point. However, the decision on the perfect words was taken out of their hands as Sara shook her head emphatically, pulling away to look up at him, her eyes slightly red but determined and set none-the less.

"Don't you dare to even _think_ that you've done something wrong Nick," she said, her voice growing stronger as she went. She shook her head in disbelief. "With all of the shit you've been through in this job, you're the one that deserves so much better than all of this." Nick didn't speak, wouldn't even raise his head. "Nick…Nick look at me…please…" He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder and gradually complied, slitting his eyes open and lifting his head enough to meet Sara's sad yet hopeful gaze. "You've done nothing but be the kind of friend and person that we all wish we could be. You're the kindest, bravest, most selfless person I know, and no one can say any different 'cause we all know it's true," she said with a small choked laugh. The small smile on her face disappeared in preparation for her next words. "Walter Gordon is the man that is responsible for how we all feel right now, and…and for what happened to you last week. You're incredibly strong to have lasted as long as you did down there…I know I _never_ could've – but if we wouldn't have found you, there is _no_ _way_ that we ever could have gone on with our normal lives, knowing that we'd let you down, knowing that we didn't come through for you when you needed us the most. We don't blame you, Nick – we could _never_. But please, Nick, don't let go, not when you've made it this far. Please…"

She broke off, unable to think of anything more she could possibly say that she hadn't said already, settling instead for merely starring at his face, waiting for a response with the others. By the look of indecision and the ever-present sadness on his face, they couldn't tell if what she'd just said had gotten through at all, if he'd understood it completely. They hoped he had – for Sara's words were perfect, they were exactly what everyone had been thinking themselves; they were the truth. And so they stared at him, holding their breath in anticipation of his response.

The word 'happy' could never do justice to the amount of relief and joy they felt when a slow, somewhat shy smile graced his face, making him look suddenly and completely like himself, like the Nick that they had seen before he left the lab for that parking lot last week.

"I could never let go, Sara," he whispered. His smile broadened a little. "Especially not with the vice-grip reality's got on me," he said, still smiling as he looked over to his right shoulder where Sara's hand had latched itself to him. Much to his relief, the simple joke worked and relieved laughter briefly filled the tense silence of the rooftop as Sara carefully removed her hand and placed it back in her lap.

Letting loose a long sigh to drain some of the anxiousness that had filled her, she wasn't aware that she had shivered a little with its passing until she suddenly felt a hand on her sleeved arm and looked at Nick to find him staring at her, concern in his eyes.

"You cold?" he asked, and started to rub up and down her arms weakly in an attempt to warm her up. Sara didn't answer and could only join the others in mentally shaking their heads at him; he was always focussing on others rather than himself – he just couldn't help it, didn't even think twice about it.

It was then that the team's attention turned back to the fact that Nick himself had yet to stop shivering. Finally feeling as though it was safe to do so, Warrick stood and walked over to Nick, kneeling right beside him as he placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, startled to be able to feel how cold Nick's body had really become after spending almost two full days and nights on the open roof in merely a T-shirt and jeans.

"Hey Nick?" he said softly. Nick stopped rubbing Sara's arms and looked up at him and Warrick inwardly smiled at the old glint that he saw returning to his best friend's eyes.

"Yeah 'Rick?"

"You need to get inside man; too much fresh air, more specifically two day's worth can kill a guy." Blinking in confusion, Nick held up one of his hands chest-level and was visibly startled to see it shaking uncontrollably, but at the same time knowing that it wasn't entirely due to the wear of the elements. However, for the first time in the past little while, he noticed just how tired, cold, and hungry he had become and right on cue, his stomach growled angrily, accompanied by a hunger pang that left Nick gripping his stomach, a slight frown on his face. Warrick knew what the gesture and frown had to mean. "Hungry?" Nick nodded carefully with a small grimace.

"Haven't eaten anything since the cracker I had before I was discharged," he said, wincing as his stomach reminded him of just how small that cracker had been. Warrick grinned lightly.

"Yeah, that'd do it." He stood up, brushing off his jeans a little with one hand and offering the other one down to Nick who waved it away.

"I got it man," he said, reaching one shaking hand over to grip the top of the ledge. Grunting at the effort, Nick used one then both of his hands to pull himself up alongside the ledge, his legs now joining in the shaking. His vision swam again, his head feeling even lighter than before as he shook it and blinked hard in an attempt to see straight enough to walk. No one missed the look on his face that vocalized what was happening and Warrick shot a quick look over at Grissom before stepping a little closer to Nick.

"You sure you don't need any help?" he asked cautiously, remembering Nick's stubborn pride all too well from past encounters. However, instead of the usual incredulous look, Warrick received a tired, uncertain glance along with and small nod.

"I think…I think I can manage…" Nick breathed, blinking hard again before removing one hand from the ledge and taking a tentative step forward as he removed the other.

It didn't turn out as well as he had hoped.

With one fell swoop, the image of his friends around him blurred into one incomprehensible blob of shadowed colours as he swayed dangerously then crumpled to the ground, Warrick and Greg just barely managing to catch him in his fall and hold him up in between them.

"That's what I thought," Warrick grunted, placing Nick's right arm around his shoulders as he wrapped his own arm around Nick's middle. Copying the action on Nick's other side, Greg tried his best not to show how hard a time he was having holding part of his friend up.

"Hey Nick, you still with us?" Greg asked through gritted teeth, shifting his grip a little. To his relief, Nick gave a weak nod. "Good, 'cause this'll be a lot easier if we don't have to completely drag you back down the stairs." The comment had the desired effect and Nick laughed wispily.

"Yeah, I think I can…help out…a…little," he mumbled, his eyes open to slits. "Just a little…tired…is all…" At that comment, Catherine looked over at Grissom, a sly smile replacing the previous worry on her face.

"As I recall from my last visit, there is a really comfortable looking couch in Ecklie's office," she said. "Me and Sara could hijack it and bring it to your office for Nick to use." Sara nodded in agreement, her smile mirroring Catherine's. Greg voiced his and Warrick's incredulous glances.

"You two are gonna move a couch?" he said, eyes narrowing as he took in their skinny arms. Noticing the look, Grissom smiled as he responded for the women.

"You'd be surprised Greg – they're tougher than they look, believe me," he said. Sara and Catherine beamed at the compliment and, not bothering to ask how Grissom knew that, Warrick, Greg, and Nick led the slow walk back towards the roof's entrance, Nick stumbling on tired feet every few steps and the two men beside him catching him each time, glad as much for the other's help as they were that things hadn't gone like they'd thought they would – meaning that Nick was walking out of this rather than being carried out on a stretcher, body bag optional.

Just as they reached the open door, Brass emerged from the stairwell, about to call out to them when he opened the door further and saw the group standing there. Wordlessly, he stepped to the side to allow the trio of men to pass.

"Hey Brass," Nick mumbled, allowing a lopsided grin to show. As the group carried on down the stairs, Brass looked to Grissom for an explanation; what had happened? Was Nick hurt? Would they be needing those paramedics?

Practically seeing those questions running through his friend's mind, Grissom placed a reassuring hand on Brass' shoulder.

"He's fine – just a little tired, and hungry; hasn't eaten or slept since he was released," he said, guiding the detective back down the stairs behind the others. Brass' next question was the one that Grissom had been waiting for and was the only one that the weathered cop trusted himself to voice out loud given the mixture of shock and relief that had mere seconds ago filled him from stem to stern.

"Had he actually been about to…was he going to…" He found he couldn't finish the sentence, and he was immensely relieved when Grissom smiled slightly and shook his head.

"No – after all this time, after all the years we've known him, we seriously underestimated just how strong he was."

The brief conversation and Grissom's final words echoed down the stairwell to Nick who, upon hearing them, stopped walking for a moment and smiled, the men helping him stopping as well and giving him a questioning look, observing the sudden smile curiously. Noticing their stares and then the ones he was receiving from the two women behind them, Nick shook his head.

"Sorry – just thought of something," he said quietly by way of explanation, and his friends decided not to push it, figuring that Nick had already done more sharing tonight than was probably comfortable for him. There would be other days, other times where they might ask him what thought it was that had caused his sudden happiness, but not right now, not today – they could wait.

To his relief, the four CSIs merely nodded and they continued their descent, the smile never leaving Nick's face.

_TBC_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

It was around ten in the morning by the time Grissom pushed back from his paper-covered desk, placing his glasses on its surface before rubbing the bridge of his nose gingerly. He never had liked doing the paperwork for cases and was always amazed at his willingness to subject himself to hours on end of it, as well as amazed that he never seemed to learn from his bad habit of letting it all pile up until there _was_ hours worth of work ahead of him.

He sighed, letting his hand drop and looking up from his mess and over at the large, but apparently 'not a problem to lift' leather couch that had temporarily taken up residence in front of one of his sets of shelves to the left of the door, the couch's occupant having fallen asleep not two seconds after he had lain down. Though they had doubted that Nick cared, for he probably would've eventually slept sitting up against the roof's ledge had they not found him sooner, they had made sure that he was as comfortable as possible, removing his running shoes and cell phone holder for him and setting up a roll of jackets as a pillow under his head, draping one of the blankets from break room's first aid kit over his unmoving form.

The man had been asleep ever since, not having even stirred when someone from the day shift had engaged in a screaming fight with Hodges right outside Grissom's office, the door having been accidentally left open. Both Grissom and Catherine had checked up on him after they'd rushed to break up the fight and shoo the two of them away, ready to apologize for the noise when they realized that he was still sound asleep, not even reacting at all to his name being called.

Presently, he looked away from Nick's slackened features and down at his watch, raising his eyebrows in surprise as he realized that Nick had already slept for fifteen hours straight when the irregularity of a CSI's sleep patterns more often than not resulted in the CSI only being able to sleep solid for five to six hours at the most, unless they were completely and totally exhausted.

'_Then again,'_ Grissom thought to himself as he shifted his gaze back to the mess in front of him, not really seeing it, _'he technically hasn't really slept for a little over a week, so that could have something to do with it.'_

He jumped a little in his seat when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye and he quickly turned to find that Nick's arms had begun jerking in his sleep and his face shone with perspiration, a grimace creasing the skin around his closed eyes and mouth. As his arms continued to jerk, Grissom could see Nick's eyes moving rapidly back and forth under their lids – there was only one thing that he could be dreaming about. Right away Grissom abandoned his chair and rushed to kneel at Nick's side, shaking him as gently as possible.

"Nick, Nick wake up, common Nicky…" But despite Grissom's now harsher shaking, Nick remained in the throws of his nightmare, his arms and now his legs starting to thrash more violently against imaginary walls, in the process discarding the blanket on the floor.

Frustrated and a little scared, he shot up from his place on the floor and whipped open his door, leaning out into the hall. Right away he spotted his team all headed towards the break room and stuck two fingers in his mouth, whistling loudly. Startled, the four of them quickly looked in the direction the piercing sound had come from only to find their boss leaning out of his office, the frantic expression on his face being enough to stop any objections to his means of getting their attention and to start them hurrying towards him even before he spoke the words that made them pick up their pace.

"I need a hand in here!" It was obviously something to do with Nick and when they finally raced through the open door and to the couch, they saw immediately why Grissom had been so upset: Nick, still asleep, was thrashing wildly around, his face shining with sweat, his eyes squeezed shut but his brow furrowed and mouth partly open as though to cry out in fear, but no sound came. Catherine gripped Grissom's arm, her voice panicked.

"Have you tried to wake him up?" she asked, staring at Nick's struggles.

"Yes," Grissom croaked. "I shook him and kept on calling his name, but he won't wake up." Both Greg and Warrick wanted to try for themselves, but didn't want to chance being caught in the thrashes. Suddenly Sara, who had been holding a tall styrefoam cup in her hands, approached Grissom.

"Do you think water would work?" she asked quickly.

Before he could answer, a gut-wrenching cry of anguish and phantom pain, nearly yell-volume, escaped Nick's lips and the thrashes suddenly stopped, leaving Nick trembling from head to toe. For a moment he remained that way and the team hoped to God that he was about to wake up, but then, while he was still asleep, he slowly lifted one trembling hand, bringing it carefully to his hip and wrapping around an unseen object. Then suddenly, Nick's panicked and pained breaths changed, becoming more rapid and choked, their irregularity easily recognizable the type that would come from slow suffocation.

Their blood ran cold as they realized what part of the event his subconscious had brought him to, but Sara was the first to react. She quickly took a step forward; she knew _exactly_ what that unseen object was and what his imagination would have him do with it, and she'd be _damned_ if she let it get away with that.

Without another thought, she took another step closer and threw the clear contents of her cup right into Nick's face. His reaction was immediate – with a sharp gasp, his eyes shot open, wide with irrational terror as he half leapt, half fell off of the couch, landing hard on the tiled ground. His back muscles spasmmed and his stomach muscles clenched as a series of painful dry-heaves and coughs wracked his exhausted body, there already being nothing in his system for him to relinquish. Though he wasn't entirely aware of it, his friends had taken seats around him, Catherine, being a mother and used to comforting someone when they were sick, sitting right next to him in order to rub slow and gentle circles on his back, whispering whatever soothing words could come to mind.

A final shudder passed through his body before it could relax a little and he was able to open his eyes again, noticing for the first time that once more he was no longer alone; each CSI from the nightshift had again positioned themselves around him, except he remembered that this time round, they were in Grissom's office, and he was blessedly free of the weight of his service weapon.

After a brief glance at the look on each of their faces, he sighed, turning his eyes to the floor as he realized that the dream he remembered having hadn't just acted itself out in his mind. In an attempt to deviate from the mood that what must have been quite the spectacle had created, he smiled half-heartedly.

"You guys just can't seem to get a break from me," he joked and was glad when they humoured him with smiles and brief chuckles before becoming serious and silent once more. He was glad that Catherine hadn't stopped rubbing his back, for it helped ease the paralyzing fear as well as the pain that his mode of waking up had left behind, however he couldn't help but wipe a hand carefully over his face, bringing it away and staring from the water that dripped from it to Sara, regarding her cup with a raised eyebrow. Blushing slightly despite herself, Sara's eyes shifted back and forth between Nick and the floor as she explained.

"You were having a nightmare and - and we figured you'd be better off awake, even if it meant using drastic measures," she said, and Nick chuckled quietly.

"Well, you deffinitely figured right on that one," he said, using his sleeve to wipe the rest of his face and neck dry. It wasn't long however before the previous levity vanished and he was able to recall exactly what he had been dreaming; had it not been for his ever present exhaustion, he would have jumped up and run as fast as he could, in any direction, just to prove to himself that he was indeed free, able to move around as he pleased. He found his eyes wandering down to his hand and he could sware that he could still feel the cold, solidness of the gun in his palm, could still feel his finger pulling back on the trigger as he squeezed his eyes shut...

He shook his head, blinking hard to clear it of its thoughts as he balled his still cold hand into a loose fist and forced his mind to focuss on the important thing at the moment: he was surrounded by his friends, people who he knew cared about him enough to see him through the aftershocks of last week - they were the one thing that hadn't changed andhe _knew_ he could depend on them for as long as it took, and longer.

Finally he was able to bring himself to look up at them and smile, but found that he was at a loss for words to express his gratitude and so settled instead for pulling the closest person into a tight hug, which incidentaly was Catherine, who was caught off guard by this sudden action but pushed aside her surprise and returned the hug ten-fold, smiling at no one in particular; Nick was going to be okay, it was just a matter of time - and they had plenty of that.

"Thanks guys, all of you," Nick said horsely, wanting to say more until he was suddenly cut off by the angry growl of his stomach. Greg was the only one that couldn't hold back a snicker.

"A little hungry are we?" he asked, folding his arms over his chest. For a second Nick simply looked confused, as though debating something in his head before he finally voiced his question, gazing blankly at the floor in front of him.

"How long have I been asleep?" he asked. It was Warrick who answered.

"Around fifteen hours or so; it's a little after ten in the morning," he said, glancing down at his watch for conformation before looking back up at his friend, looking at him steadily for a moment before venturing to an offer. "What do you say: should a few of us head over to the deli, pick up a late breakfast, or an early lunch?" They were relieved once more to see him smile and nod his ascent.

"That'd be really be great 'Rick," he whispered, his eyes shifting as his smile turned sheepish. "'Cause I really don't think I'd be able to see straight enough to even place an order for myself." Warrick grinned.

"It's no problem man; me 'n Greg'll handle it." And with that, the two of them raced out of the room, not even having to ask what everyone would like - they knew each other well enough to know it by heart.

When they had gone, the other three combined their efforts to carefully help Nick to stand and move back to sit up on the couch, rewrapping the blanket around him before Sara and Catherine took a seat on either side of him, Grissom returning to the chair behind his desk, gazing at Nick's drooping eyes thoughtfully; by the looks of things, the man wasn't going to be able to stay awake until the other two returned with their food, not that he couldn't use the extra sleep seeing as he had the time and opportunity to take it and they could just wake him up when Greg and Warrick returned.

Nodding resolutely, Grissom paused before returning to his paperwork, a thoughtfull smile playing on his lips as he watched Nick finally give in to his exhaustion, his chin resting on his chest as his breaths evened out and became deeper once more. And, though the supervisor wasn't entirely sure where they would go, what they would do once the immediate needs for sleep and food had been adressed, he wasn't worried; they'd made it this far - together, they'd be able to figure out the rest.

All in due time.

**The End**

* * *

**A/N:** and there you have it, the end of the story:) hope you enjoyed reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it:) - if you have a spare moment, or haven't already,check out my other csi fic 'nowhere to run' (drama/actionadventure),set 300 feet underground, and pitting the team against a murderer. -- chapter 2 will be up shortly 


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